Truth
by Gumnut
Summary: The truth wasn't out there. It was deep inside. General spoilers for season 2. COMPLETE.
1. Want

Want   
By Gumnut   
23 Apr 2007 

It was raining.

Water spattered against his forehead and tangled with his eyelashes. He blinked and raindrops became tears, running down his face, his cheeks, dripping off his chin, pooling at the base of his neck only to overflow and track a chilling trail down his bare chest.

It was raining.

Off in the distance a single white street lamp attempted to light up the night through the rain and failed miserably, its glow shattered into thousands of tiny reflections, rippled by water.

They had come to Seattle in the hope of finding a little relief. Or so he had thought. Days had passed where one hunt blurred into another, where he sought rest and found only violence. Demons, spirits, evil that reached into his heart and ripped it out piece by bleeding piece. The scream of a dying man, a terrified woman, the eyes of child possessed by a spirit that literally tore her soul in half. Pain etched into every day, be it physical or not, and he found himself running, fleeing, reaching for some mythological rest he believed in yet never found.

The air was cold and tossed by an erratic wind that forced the rain to dance across his skin. Muscles tried to shiver, tried to trap heat, but the wind and the rain pummelled them into knots of icy pain.

He should have been thankful for the meagre warmth of the old pair of faded jeans, the only piece of clothing between him and a breach of decency, but they were as wet as he and as cold as his soul.

His toes curled up in icy puddles as his mind sought reason.

He wanted.

Wanted surcease, release, a freedom from it all.

But 'it' had become blurred. What was 'it'? He no longer knew what he was fleeing to or from.

The Impala took him wherever he needed to go. Her familiar lines, her rumble, her music, she took him, kept him safe, ensconced in her metal and vinyl.

But what about where he wanted to go?

Where did he want to go?

Sodden bandages flapped loosely against one shoulder, the bloodstained material as chilled as the skin it was trying to protect. He twitched as hard rain caught in scratches.

Lightning flickered across the sky, leaving fireworked impressions across his retinas.

He wanted out.

His eyes closed a moment, as if of their own volition. Control was an illusion. An illusion that no longer blinded him.

There was no out. If he left, his brother would fall. He didn't know what the hell was going on, what that bastard wanted with little Sammy, but be damned if he would let him have it.

Tears burned in his eyesockets, taunting the freezing rain.

He would stand between hell and his brother if he had to. His teeth grit and rain leaked into the corners of his mouth.

He wanted out, but he didn't want to leave.

It was raining.

He had run out into the night, into the freezing rain, attempting to flee his own thoughts. Sometimes he could banish them with a beautiful woman or a large bottle...or three. But not tonight. Tonight they climbed into his dreams and ate away his sleep.

Tonight fate whispered in his ears and taunted him with what he couldn't have.

The soft breathing of his brother threw him out the door.

He wanted out.

But it was raining.

"Dude, what the hell do you think you are doing?"

Answers didn't seem to come to mind in time to stop the raincoat from being shoved over his shoulders.

"Man, you're going to catch your death."

No, death was going to catch him. It was going to grab him and his brother and anyone else who got in the way and strangle the life out of them.

"Dean?"

Hands gripped his forearms and a pair of dark eyes blinked at him through the rain. Sammy was getting wet. He reached up a hand and touched a lock of that damn long and lanky hair of his. "You're getting wet, Sammy."

"Me? Dean, you're soaked to the bone. What the hell are you doing out here? Come back inside." There was a tug on his arm as Sam tried to lead him away.

Dean dug his heels into the drowned blacktop. "No."

Fingers caught on the raincoat and it shifted, falling off one shoulder. The brief warmth was sucked away by the wind and shredded by the rain.

"Dean!"

He blinked, turning to stare at his brother.

"Dean, come inside, man." There was rain running down Sammy's nose. "Please."

"I don't want to." But Sammy was getting wet. He shifted his feet and his heel came down on a stone. He stumbled.

Hands caught him before he could fall.

"Dean, please." And those familiar eyes pierced him to his soul. Water flickered in the light of a distant street lamp. "For me."

For Sammy.

"Okay." His voice was small.

The coat was wrapped around him once more, its transient warmth shutting off the chill of the rain. His brother's hands held him up, protected him from falling as his bare feet tripped on stones. Needles of pain were ignored. Sammy didn't ask him any further questions and Dean didn't offer him any answers. Only the rain broke the silence.

Light poked at his eyes as his brother opened the door to their dingy motel room and attempted to usher him in. Dean threw up a hand to ward it off and stumbled backwards.

He wanted out.

"Dean." He had stumbled into his brother. Strong arms caught him and propelled him through the door.

He wanted out.

He struggled, tangling with those arms, trying to free himself. Rain slicked skin caught on cheap polyester as Dean spun on the spot, clumsy in his urgency, and collided with a human wall. He barely registered the surprise on his brother's face as he turned again. To flee. To get out. He wanted out.

Sammy caught him.

"Dean!"

He had to get out. He needed release. He had to run. He struggled, unbalancing his opponent. They fell sideways, knocking a lamp from a table and dousing its glaring light.

"D-!" An elbow silenced the voice and for a moment Dean thought he was free. He stumbled to his feet, his toes meeting broken glass. The door was open. The rain was beckoning.

He wanted out.

He moved.

And found himself on the floor eating old carpet.

"Damnit, Dean, what the hell?"

There was pressure on his back, pinning him to the floor. Something had caught his wrists. Still he struggled. "Lemme go."

"Not on your life."

"Lemme go!" He wanted out. He wanted out, he wanted out, he wanted out... He had to...needed to...he wanted out! "Please, Sammy, let me go."

The pressure lessened just slightly.

But that was all he needed.

He flipped his body sideways, throwing his brother off his back and into a side table with a clattering crunch. He was free! And he moved, his feet under him, propelling him towards the door as fast as possible.

There was a yell behind him; his vision was suddenly laced with stars.

And then the world just let him go.

-o-o-o-

TBC?


	2. Wish

Wish   
Part 2 of 'Truth'  
By Gumnut   
27 Apr - 2 May 2007 

_Dean spun, his foot following through and colliding with a not so perfect set of teeth. The crunch vibrated through his ankle echoed by a muffled gurgle that was both satisfying and disturbingly gross. But he didn't have time to examine it further, as soon as his sole hit the ground, he was twisting and pushing off in the opposite direction, his jacket catching air movement and billowing up under his armpits._

_"Sam! Move it!" The shotgun was reassuringly cold in his hand as he bolted for the door._

_He hit clean air a moment later, but paused just that microsecond to reassure himself that his brother was behind him._

_Unfortunately, Sam's footsteps weren't alone. Damnit! Another one._

_"Down, Sam!"_

_His brother's startled glance didn't stop him from obeying immediately, the tall man throwing himself, and the little girl encircled in his arms, hurriedly to the floor. Broken glass scattered._

_The shotgun came up, Dean marking off aim as his eyes narrowed. The weapon fired, its kickback shooting through his solid frame to make the dust around his boots dance and the goon reaching for his brother was thrown backwards, his chest full of rock salt. Satisfaction had fleeting pleasure._

_He didn't need to call for Sam this time, the younger man scrabbling awkwardly to his feet, his limp burden clutched to his chest. Dean hurried him through the door towards the Impala, his eyes searching the dark for any more demented assholes._

_The darkness twitched._

_He didn't hesitate._

_Salt burnt the air._

_"You can't have her, you bastards. You hear me?!"_

-o-o-o-

Sam let his head drop to the carpet, his breath stirring up dust in the grimy pile. Relief at stopping Dean, mixed with the guilt of causing him injury, bounced around his head and etched questions into his skull.

The lamp cord was still in his hands, the base lying smashed beside Dean's head. He had only intended to tangle his brother enough to stop him, but he had misjudged his position and the ceramic base had wrapped itself around Dean's head instead.

Stumbling to his feet, Sam caught skin on broken shards of light globe and swore. Moving more gingerly, but no less hurriedly, he staggered to his brother's side. "Dean?"

He was lying face down, a sizeable lump forming on the back of his head. Sam winced. "Dean?"

No response.

His fingers were shaking as he searched for a pulse, his own heart missing beats and strangling itself until he found the soft touch of movement beneath damp skin. Thank god.

Damnit, Dean. What the hell?

Brushing away broken ceramics and glass, he gently turned his brother over, assessing him for further damage. He grimaced at the state of Dean's shoulder. The rain had soaked the bandages through and his brother's unpredictable exertions had broken open the wounds underneath, pink stains ample proof.

"Dean? Can you hear me?"

No response.

And that damn light globe had drawn red scratches all over the man's bare feet, glass glistening in the light. Sam sighed, a little in exasperation, but more in worry. "C'mon, man, wake up." But his brother was just as stubborn unconscious as he was when not.

Sam closed his eyes for just a moment.

Sliding an arm under Dean's shoulders, he lifted him as gently as he could. The older man's head lolled against his shoulder, lax and vulnerable. He paused staring, caught by that vulnerability. "Dean?"

When his brother's vibrant personality failed to appear, Sam involuntarily clutched him tighter, holding him close, the motel room suddenly empty of life. Cold wind blew in through the still open door.

_Aww, man, do you have to?_

Sam almost snorted. Of all the voices there was always one he listened to, even if only to argue with it.

Getting his feet under him, he lifted his brother onto one of the beds. He switched on the remaining lamp and grabbing the quilt off the other bed, wrapped it around the freezing man.

Lightning lit up the room, drowning out the feeble light and suddenly the rain outside came down even harder, the drumming on the pavement outside roaring into the room. Skipping over the mess on the floor, Sam slammed the door shut, the bang echoing off the walls.

A startled glance in Dean's direction, but there was still no response. Sam's stomach clenched.

Heading to the bathroom, he gathered up a towel, and, via his own duffel, the first aid kit and headed back to the bed. Every instinct screamed at him to call an ambulance, a doctor or to simply throw his brother into the backseat of the Impala and take him to medical aid himself. But such was their existence that something as simple as medical assistance was beyond them, bar fronting up to the police and handing their lives in for ten to fifteen...hundred years of prison.

Such was the bane of the righteous.

He had to settle for wiping rain from his brother's face and dabbing disinfectant on the cuts on his feet, painstakingly attempting to extricate any slivers of glass he could find. Redressing his shoulder proved to be the most difficult of all. It had been hard enough when his brother was awake and complaining, twitching and refusing to keep still the first time. Now his motionlessness hampered more than helped. Be careful what you wish for.

Sam managed to remove the sodden bandages, revealing the three raw gouges in Dean's shoulder. They were shallow and did not need stitching, but they no doubt stung like hell. Sam had cornered Dean and demanded they be wrapped. In the end, he was pretty sure the man only complied to shut him up.

Vulnerabilities were something to be hidden.

The scabs were now cracking and bleeding sluggishly. So he cleaned and wrapped them again, white bandage lining up against skin almost as pale as the cotton.

The entire time Dean didn't react at all.

"C'mon, man, give me a sign." He reached up and gently opened one of Dean's eyelids. The eye beneath was rolled up, blindly seeing nothing.

Sam sat back on the other bed at a loss as to what to do next.

And to what the hell had happened.

He had been in the shower, rubbing a towel through his hair as he walked back into the room, fully expecting to find his brother either surfing porn or attempting to hack into the not so free but equally as adult TV channels. His absence was a surprise.

After about fifteen minutes, his absence became a concern. Dean never left without advising him of his whereabouts. A set of clothes later and a hastily grabbed raincoat and he had ventured out into the weather.

The last thing he had expected to find was his brother standing half naked in the rain. Much less the fact he would have to fight the man just to get him back inside.

He shouldn't be surprised. He shouldn't expect normality, no matter how he wished for it, not living the life that had chosen them. But he was and he did.

Did he ever.

Damnit, Dean. He rubbed at his bruised jaw.

Looking back over the last few days, he had to admit that his brother had been a little quieter than usual. But that was to be expected considering what happened in Oregon. Hell, it had been Sam's suggestion to skip states and head for Seattle. Get away; spend some time with their feet on a coffee table instead of running for their lives. Dean had seemed amenable to the idea. They had even splurged a little on the food side of things, and this motel was just a step up from what they usually haunted. They were on vacation, for goodness sake.

But there was no rest for the damned.

Sam let his head drop into his hands.

Dean, please wake up.

Goddamnit, wake up!

Thunder roared overhead and the building shook. A hopeful glance.

"Dean?"

Nothing. The room was so damn empty.

He resisted the urge to reach over and shake the man silly. I'm sorry I hit you over the head, but you were acting an ass.

Just wake up.

_No-one likes a whiner, Sam._

Shut up.

As if in response to his internal monologue, his brother twitched.

"Dean?" Sam stood and leant over the bed. "Can you hear me?"

The man screwed up his face a moment as if flinching away from something.

"Dean?"

His eyes opened, blinking, confused.

As he found focus, he fixed on Sam.

"Hey, man, you with me?"

But where there would usually be recognition, there was suddenly fear. Dean flinched away, struggling under the quilt. Sam instinctively reached out, desperate to reassure and suddenly afraid his brother was going to attempt to dash out the door again. "Dean, hey, calm down."

Dean's eyes never left his own and when Sam was forced to hold him down, they widened in an expression of such terror Sam almost let him go.

"Dean!"

His brother flinched at the name and froze.

Then he began to scream.

-o-o-o-


	3. Wail

Wail   
Part 3 of 'Truth'  
By Gumnut   
3 - 6 May 2007 

Dean screamed, his back arching, every muscle taut, ready to spring out from beneath his skin.

"God, Dean!" Sam struggled to hold him, caught between protecting his brother from himself and causing him to panic further. "What-?" But Dean shoved him away, suddenly coordinated enough to overcome Sam's considerable strength. He scrambled out of the bed, tripping over the quilt and yelping when his feet came down hard on the floor.

Sam struggled to regain his balance and beat Dean to the door, putting himself between his brother and freedom. He readied himself for an attack as Dean's eyes, wild with confusion and fear, latched on to him.

But it never came.

A flash of recognition danced across his brother's eyes. "Sammy?"

The weak and vulnerable sound was so far from his normal voice, it was almost unrecognisable.

Sam was wary. "Dean?"

"Oh god." His brother's face crumpled, his head falling into his hands as his legs folded.

Sam attempted to catch him before he hit the floor and only partly succeeded, both of them ending up hitting the carpet hard. Dean tried to curl up into a ball and Sam found his arms full of trembling brother.

"Dean?"

"No, no, no, no..." The distraught man muttered the word over and over again, his head shaking in time.

"Talk to me...please..."

His brother's only response was to attempt to curl up even tighter.

And an urgent knock at the door took an extra ten years off Sam's life.

Dean started, and like a frightened animal, scrambled out of Sam's grip. He clambered behind one of the beds and hid, only a tuft of mussed hair appearing above the edge of the coverlet. Sam stared after him a moment, frowning fit to break something. Apparently in was now preferable to out.

And he was caught between helping his brother and getting rid of the intruders, but another determined bang on the door made up his mind. Keeping one eye on Dean, Sam rose to his feet, turning toward the door. The handle was cold in his hand.

"Yes?"

"Are you okay? We heard screaming." The owners of the motel stood on the doorstep, an umbrella spread above them against the rain. The old woman stood almost hiding behind her husband. Sam wouldn't have been surprised if she had a baseball bat back there with her.

"We're fine. Just cut myself shaving." He held up the finger he had cut on the glass littered floor earlier and attempted one of Dean's charming grins.

The old woman glared at him, her eyes narrowing, but the man's lips just thinned. "As long as you aren't dying or anything."

"No. No, sir, no dying." Dean whimpered behind him and Sam shifted his stance, blocking the doorway even more, if that was possible.

"What do you have in there?"

"Just my brother, sir. He hasn't been feeling well." Which was the truth.

If it was possible the man's lips thinned even further and for a moment, Sam thought he was going to demand entry. He straightened to his full height.

The man got the message, looking up at Sam, his gaze turned away. "Just make sure you're not up to no good there, sonny. The cops don't take lightly to shenanigans here."

"Yes, sir. No, of course not, sir." Go the hell away, sir. Sam attempted a weak smile and the two of them turned to leave.

Sure enough, the woman had a baseball bat in one hand. She didn't stop glaring at him as she followed her husband back to the office.

Sam sighed and let his shoulders drop before turning back into the room and locking the door behind him.

"Dean?"

But the room was empty.

-o-o-o-

_The bad guys followed them, of course. Intelligence on the part of scum tended to be confined to the occasional evil genius and these goons barely made the level of henchmen._

_Dean kept an eye on Sam as his brother ran ahead of him, his arms clutching the young girl to his chest. Wet tufts of grass caught Dean's boots as he reloaded the shotgun, and he wished, not for the first time, that he didn't have qualms about offing humans. These bastards deserved several to the head. But no, right was right, no matter how wrong._

_The gun clicked as he closed the barrel._

_A car door creaked open and a glance towards the Impala saw Sam gently loading his burden into the car. A moment later, his brother resurfaced, hands full of shotgun._

_Salt shot tore past in a puff of angry air._

_Dean spun to see a goon, inches from him, fall flat on his back. "Hot damn, Sammy!"_

_His brother flicked him a slight grin._

_Dean didn't stop his headlong run until he ran into the Impala, his hand reaching for the doorhandle._

_"You can't!" The behemoth that had previously had several teeth removed by Dean's boot, ran down the hill after them. Ooh, dumb and stupid speaks. The shotgun levelled and his hands came up. "You're too late. It's done."_

_Dean's lips thinned._

_"Dean!" A flicker in the corner of his eye._

_Godamnit! He swung the shotgun around like a club and hit yet another goon across the skull. Where the hell were these guys coming from? He shoved him away with a foot, threw the Impala's door open and himself into her driver's seat. Sam joined him, shotgun aiming through the window as Dean reached for the ignition._

_The roar of the Chevy's engine was the most wonderful sound in the world._

_The accelerator hit the floor and over three hundred horsepower of V8 left the shack and its attendant assholes in the dust._

_And the thrum of engine kept the silence at bay._

_"How is she?"_

_Sam had deposited the little girl between the two of them, her limp body resting against him. His fingers caressed her throat gently. "Not good."_

_"Do we need to pull over?"_

_"No." Sam seemed to hesitate. "Nearest hospital."_

_"What?" Dean was caught between looking at the road and staring at his brother. "Something you're not telling me?"_

_"No. It's just...what if we're too late?"_

_"We're not too late. She's alive isn't she?"_

_"Dean..."_

_"No, Sam. We're not doing this."_

_"It's not your fault."_

_"Sam...we're taking her to the hospital."_

_And there was no further argument allowed._

-o-o-o-

The rain wasn't as strong as before, but it was colder, the chill eating into his skin. Bushes scratched at him, but he ignored them, stumbling through the hedge and into the parking lot.

To one side sat the Impala, her front left fender still bent and buckled, her paintwork violated and scratched. Something flared inside at the sight of her.

How dare you, you bastard!

He blinked rain out of his eyes.

His life was hurting even her.

He wanted out.

So he ran.

-o-o-o-


	4. Where

Where   
Part 4 of 'Truth'  
By Gumnut   
6 - 9 May 2007 

It was the bathroom window.

Sam swore.

Without a second thought, he flew through the room, grabbing Dean's jacket on the fly and ran out into the rain.

"Dean!"

The dark swallowed his yell.

He ignored the startled looks from the managers as he ran past them. "Dean!"

There were bushes lining the building and Sam leapt into the garden, mud squelching under his boots. Foliage was tossed aside, branches snapping under his urgency.

The light he'd left on in their room glowed softly through the window. His brother wasn't huddled under the windowsill. His brother wasn't there.

Sam spun, running out into the parking lot. The Impala sat there silent, empty. He hurried over, wiping water from the Chevy's windows. Dean had left the car.

If there was any proof that his brother wasn't in his right mind, it was sitting there in the parking lot.

His eyes combed all the exits. The motel sat on an empty road in the middle of nowhere. The zipcode belonged to Seattle, but only barely and across the road was woodland that ate the rain as well as the light.

Sam thought he knew his brother well, and under normal circumstances he would have been able to predict his preferred route, but Dean was acting far from normal. And though he wanted to know why, he dreaded the answer.

Because he was beginning to suspect the cause of Dean's panic. He didn't want to consider it, didn't want to face it, but the possibility was there, no matter how improbable.

He stared at the forest and bit his lip.

Aw, hell, Dean.

He turned back to the motel and went in search of his shotgun.

-o-o-o-

_They didn't make it to the hospital._

_Since Dean had determined their course of action, there had been silence in the car. Sam kept an eye on Chrissy, supplying what little first aid he could, his heart in his throat. There was bruising mostly, on her wrists and arms, and a puncture wound at the base of her neck that bled sluggishly. But it wasn't her injuries he feared the most. It was what else those bastards might have done to her._

_Or used her for._

_He knew Dean felt responsible. They had known the girl was in danger, but they had misjudged their opponent and she had slipped through their fingers. Dean had a sizeable bruise on the back of his head as a reminder._

_And an angry Dean was a dangerous Dean._

_They had managed to get her back. And now his brother was hell bent on saving her._

_He just prayed they could._

_Silence reigned in the car for another mile or so, the pitch black scenery only broken by the Impala's headlights, the trunks of many trees flying past in the shadows. They were a long way from civilisation. Nothing new. What they hunted tended to hide in distant places, hidden places, places in the middle of nowhere._

_Nowhere near a hospital._

_Eight cylinders weren't enough._

_He shifted slightly in his seat and the girl in his arms whimpered._

_"Chrissy?"_

_She opened her eyes and looked up at him, blinking a moment before she focussed. There was nothing but sadness in her expression, tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Sam." Half a sob. "So sorry..."_

_"For what?"_

_She didn't answer, she only reached out to him._

_And suddenly everything went white._

-o-o-o-

This time he turned off the lights and locked the door. Backpack full of what he'd most likely need, including the first aid kit and the ever present shotgun, he hurried across the road and into the forest, the flashlight in his hand lighting the way.

Sam knew how to track. Both brothers did. Both also knew how to cover those tracks, but Sam hoped that Dean hadn't thought to do so, because if he had, Sam's chances of finding him were near slim to none.

But several minutes of frantic scanning back and forth, parallel to the edge of the road, he finally located signs of his brother's passage. The wind was tossing the tops of the trees, but down here even the soaking rain barely made it through and the air was still.

Water dripped onto pine needles as Sam turned into the forest and ran.

-o-o-o-

_Dean glanced away from his brother, his eyes tracking the road as Sam comforted the little girl. Shit, this just wasn't right. He should have stopped this from happening. She had been in his hands for god's sake. If only he had paid more attention, if only he hadn't been..._

_Screw the bastards, he'd make them pay. If she died, by god, he'd make them pay._

_He stared at the road as if he could raze it with his eyes. He couldn't catch a break. One moment of inattention and a life may be lost, could be lost, probably well damn is lost._

_No, damnit, we can save her!_

_But it gnawed in his gut, Sam's words eating at his resolve. Please let me save her._

_Please..._

_He flicked a glance at his brother._

_Sam was slumping in his seat, a clawed hand brushing his cheekbone. Red light flickered across fingertips._

_F-!_

_Needle hot pain erupted in his shoulder and he looked down to find a similar clawed hand sinking through his leather jacket._

_Little Chrissy turned to him and snarled, her eyes aflame with red fire._

_He flinched away, caught between fending her off and keeping the Impala on the road. His foot slid off the accelerator as he reached around with his other hand and attempted to grab her._

_But she left Sam limp in his seat and swung around, whacking him across the face with a strength she couldn't possibly possess. Stars danced in his vision._

_"Sam!"_

_But there was no assistance from the other side of the car._

_He caught a tiny wrist and she let off a howl that made his ears hurt. She squeezed his injured shoulder and he yelped involuntarily._

_"You can't have her, you bastards. You hear me?!" Her voice was several octaves lower than it was ever designed to be and she laughed in his ear. "You are a fool." Then she smiled, the red in her eyes dancing to its own tune. "Thank you for the present."_

_She wrenched herself from his grip and the last thing he saw was that same clawed hand aimed at his face._

-o-o-o-

There were reasons. Reasons why he did the things he did, acted the way he did, grieved the way he did. But in truth, they were only excuses to hide.

To hide from the truth.

He stumbled, his foot catching on something hidden in pine needles, and he fell. The ground winded him, that last precious gasp of air passing his lips in a whimper.

Wet pine needles stabbed at his cheek.

No...please, no.

_Yesssssssssssssss..._

No!

He struggled to his feet. He wanted out. The further he ran, the safer he would be.

Rainwater ran down his bare chest and he shivered violently. Move you stupid bastard!

He wanted out.

So he ran.

-o-o-o-


	5. Will

Will   
Part 5 of 'Truth'  
By Gumnut   
13 - 15 May 2007 

_Dreams are made of waking up to a warm summer morning, the sun reaching out from the window and creeping up the coverlet. They're made by the soft sounds of a lovely woman sleeping under your arm and the sigh of the curtain in a morning breeze._

_Cold, unforgiving glass and pain were his waking partners._

_And rain._

_Loud drumming rain beating at the skin of the Impala._

_He blinked._

_He was in the car. His face was mashed up against the side window and gravity no longer pushed down, but somewhere in the direction of his left temple._

_The doorhandle was digging into his ribcage._

_Oh god._

_Struggling to sit upright, Dean found his world tipped sideways and his beloved Chevy dumped in a ditch, her left front fender rammed up against a tree. A moment of horror was quickly replaced by one of terror as his memory materialised and he realised he was alone._

_"Sam?"_

_The seat was slick under his cold fingers._

_"Sammy?"_

_He struggled with his door and gave up, climbing up the bench seat, he shoved the passenger side door open. Sam's door._

_Rain hit him, soaking him within minutes. "Sammy?!"_

_The road they had been speeding along was empty and the dark all-consuming. The Impala gave off a weak light, her headlights still draining battery power and reaching the last of it. He cursed, his eyes darting to the forest beyond as he leant back in and turned off the ignition, palming the keys. He wondered why her engine was silent and would curse the seven versions of hell if her engine was damaged._

_But Sam..._

_Slipping in the mud, he slid to the rear of the injured car, shoving open the trunk and gasping in relief when he found his weapon collection safe and sound._

_And a flashlight._

_Moments later he was scouring the edge of the road looking for signs of his brother._

_Dean was an excellent tracker, but the discarded jacket was enough for anyone. He knotted the soaked cloth up in a fist._

_Sam._

_The trees ate all the light._

_His shotgun was cold in his hand as he ran into the forest._

-o-o-o-

It was eerily quiet in the forest. His footsteps were muffled by pine needles as the rain sighed amongst the trees. He moved fast and eventually his flashlight caught Dean's shadowed figure stumbling amongst the trees.

"Dean?"

The man who turned a panicked look in his direction was not the brother he knew. The man opened his mouth as if to say something, but nothing more than a strangled gurgle came out.

Dean turned and ran.

Oh, no you don't.

Leaping into a run before his dazed brother could put more than one foot in front of the other, Sam grabbed him from behind

And Dean squawked. Like a girl. If the situation had been anything but what it was it would have been funny.

Sam didn't feel like laughing. "It's me, dude. C'mon..."

But that only seemed to agitate Dean further. "No! No, no...nooooo!" And his brother was damn strong.

"For God's sake, Dean, don't make me knock you out again...please." Sam grunted as an elbow found a rib.

"Sammy!"

He couldn't help it. Perhaps it was his brother's voice, the plea or just the pain in the sound of his name, but he flinched.

And Dean broke free, scuttling away. But to Sam's surprise, he didn't run, his brother staggering a moment before collapsing hard against a tree. The wood seemed to be the only thing holding him up.

He stood there a moment, his back to Sam, his arms wrapped around himself, almost crouching.

Sam whispered the word this time, caught repeating his brother's name as if it was some kind of prayer. "Dean?"

But he knew all was lost as his brother straightened and turned.

His eyes flickering red in the dark.

-o-o-o-

_Sam had been dragged into the forest, his trail obvious in the extreme, and considering the likely perpetrator, he wasn't surprised._

_But that didn't quell his anger._

_He wanted to call out his brother's name, it was instinctive to beg for a reassuring answer, but he kept quiet, his boots padding softly on pine needles. He kept the gun up and ready, though he had to admit to himself that he wasn't sure he would be able to use it._

_He didn't have enough profanity in his vocabulary to express what he wanted to do to the bastards who did this. When he and Sam had come across the case, he had found it so hard to believe anyone would want to mess with a reaper wraith. Cousins to the reapers themselves, the wraiths existed somewhere between life and death, needing life to survive, but death to live. Brought into the world upon the sacrifice of a child, they preyed on the living, leaching away their soul. There was no quick death at the hand of a reaper with these things. No, life was painful and death slow._

_He should never have let Chrissy out of his eyesight. Goddamnit, this was so his fault and now she...they had been too late. Once a wraith got its claws in, there was no way to detach it by force._

_Mercy was the only choice._

_The barrel of the gun dropped a few millimetres, but that cold clamp around his heart snapped closed. He did what was necessary._

_But was it necessary? Had they covered all the bases? Had Sam scoured all their resources?_

_His lips thinned. Perhaps..._

_But perhaps was for dead people._

_Sometimes hope was the enemy and pessimism was the only way to survive._

_He rolled his shoulders and increased his pace. Sam was out there._

_No matter the strength of the wraith, there were still certain laws of physics it couldn't deny. The body it held captive was small and his brother was not a small man. Dean was able to catch up to them faster than he would have thought; their presence betrayed by the mutterings of the creature that once was Chrissy._

_The shotgun was loaded with pellets he and Sam had prepped before setting out on this hunt. There was a limited number, but enough. Each tiny pellet was etched with the necessary symbol and his hands were still aching from writing the damn things._

_He had so hoped he wouldn't have to use them._

_The creature grunted and muttered loudly as Sam's jeans caught on an exposed root._

_The gun came up and Dean sighted down its length._

_Only to be confronted by a pair of angry red eyes. _

-o-o-o-


	6. Which

Author's notes: Okay, you all pummelled me into it. I should be writing my original work, but here you go, the next part of 'Truth'. :D This one had a mind of its own and wandered off all by itself. Unbeta-d so all mistakes are mine. Warning: This part contains some possibly disturbing subject matter. I'm wimpy in my ratings and always over compensate, but please be warned.

Which  
Part 6 of 'Truth'  
By Gumnut  
20 May/11 Jun 2007

_They stared at him, those eyes. They flickered with an angry fire and tore at his heart with their destroyed innocence._

_"Are you just going to stand there pointing that thing or are you going to come out and pounce on me?" Her voice wasn't her own and it creeped him out. Not that he was new to voice special effects, but hey..._

_He hesitated a moment and she prodded him by raising a sharp clawed hand to his brother's throat._

_"Okay, okay. I'm here." He held the shotgun up, raising his hands in surrender and stepping out from behind the tree, Sam's jacket left in his wake. "Put the fingers down."_

_Her face twisted, a mixture of smile and disturbing intent. "You think you're funny."_

_"I don't think. I am."_

_"Ah, confidence." And her face turned up in a rictus of a smile, her teeth showing. He belatedly noted the sharp points of the little girl's incisors. Charming._

_"What do you want?"_

_She smiled. "I already have what I want, thank you."_

_"And what is that?" He shifted where he stood._

_She opened her mouth, but, as if suddenly reconsidering replying, closed it again. "Now, wouldn't you like to know."_

_"Personally, I don't give a rat's ass what you want. However, if you think you're leaving here with my brother, you may want to reconsider." He idly caressed the barrel of the shotgun with his thumb. Confidence was everything._

_"Do you honestly think you have a chance against someone such as I?"_

_"Anyone who refers to themselves that way obviously needs to be knocked down a peg or two."_

_The girl's expression faltered slightly as if she had become aware that he might know something she didn't. "I'd like to see you try." Its claws flexed against Sam's neck, pinching and pulling skin. "You take mine, I'll take his."_

_"Unfortunately for you." He even managed to project some resigned nonchalance. It made his spine creak._

_Those red eyes blinked at him slowly. "Why?"_

_Hook, line... "Do you really think you could handle him?"_

_"Handle him?" It stared down at his unconscious brother, and caressed his cheek. "He is only human. Delicious, but only human."_

_"Oh, okay." He shifted on his feet desperate to broadcast the casualness he needed to pull this off. A casual step forward. "If you think so."_

_Red eyes narrowed. "You are a fool."_

_"Hey, I'm only human remember. You're the big ass reaper wannabe, not me. What do I know?"_

_"Enough to get yourself into some serious difficulty, boy."_

_"Wouldn't be the first time." Project that confidence, Winchester. "So you think you can do it?"_

_"I do as I please." But the girl looked much less eager to deal with Sam. The eyes now seemed pinned to Dean._

_He was expecting it, but not at the speed she managed. Discarding Sam, she leapt at Dean faster than he could react, her claws once again biting into his skin._

_He yelped, but the gun came around, nonetheless, his thumb flicking the trigger as her claws reached his temples. His eyesight misted red as the gun went off, the small explosion of gunpowder muffled by flesh._

_And blue eyes were staring up at him in horror, fingers falling away, a small body falling towards pine needles._

_He caught her before she could hit the ground and for a moment he just stared at her as her head lolled to one side and her blood drenched his hands._

_So fast, so determined, so...necessary. His heart froze solid, his mind shutting down as he set her down gently and moved towards his brother._

_He had..._

_He blinked. Focus. Sam._

_"Sam!" His hands stained his brother's shirt as he reached out to shake him. A fingerprint was left behind as he checked for a pulse._

_The fingerprint jumped in rhythm. Thank god._

_"Dean?" Muffled and groggy, but Sam's eyes opened and latched on to his own. They blinked in the glare of the flashlight and widened alarmingly. "Dean!"_

_And Sam was up and checking Dean for injury. "What the hell happened? Are you okay? You're bleeding."_

_It wasn't his blood. Mostly. "I'm fine, Sammy." But even he could hear the desolation in his voice._

_It didn't take long. His brother's dark eyes flicking between Dean and the small discarded heap behind him. "What happened?"_

_Dean's hands were shaking, his adrenalin level dropping below the level required to maintain his fa?de. "It was necessary, Sam."_

_He stood, turning away from his brother both to move and to keep his expression hidden. Before Sam could follow and see what Dean had done, he collected Chrissy in his arms and holding the dead girl to his chest, he headed back to the car, the flashlight discarded behind him._

-o-o-o-

"Hello, Sammy."

Sam took a step backwards. It hurt to have his fears confirmed and the shotgun in his hands suddenly sucked the heat out of his body.

"What? Are you afraid of your brother?"

"You are not my brother."

"Oh, but I am." But those red eyes flickered closed and Dean staggered back against the tree. Shadowed hazel appeared a moment later. Confused hazel. Dean brought a hand up as if to ward off Sam. "No!"

"Dean!" He hurried forward a step, but stopped as those eyes flickered again.

"No! No, no, no, no, no, n-" Red flared, licking at Dean's eyebrows as if to consume them. His figure straightened. "Yes." It was a hiss and a smile appeared on his face.

Sam levelled the gun at his brother.

"Oh, Sammy, what do you think you are going to do with that?"

"What is necessary."

The creature that had taken his brother exercised his lungs and burst out laughing. "You? Do you really think you have the strength?"

Sam didn't answer, his lips thinning.

It laughed at him again, Dean's mouth curling in mockery. "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. You just don't have it in you. That is your brother's job."

Sam's eyes narrowed, but still he said nothing.

"Something wrong?" His brother's smile, usually so reassuring, a focus, a solidity in his world of uncertainties, to see it so manipulated...it was rape. Bile rose in Sam's throat.

"There is, but not with me." Borrowing from Dean, confidence had worked for him.

The creature laughed again. "Oh, Sammy, do you really think you can fool your own brother? He can read you like a book. Time to go and hide behind his skirts now." It brought a finger to Dean's lips. "Oh, sorry, I forgot. Dean's now the bad guy, isn't he." That smile was really beginning to grate.

"What do you want?"

"Why? Isn't that obvious? I want you." It flashed a grin at him.

Me. The word formed on his lips, but he gave it no voice.

"And your brother thought he was so smart, luring me away from you, only to offer himself up as a much more comfortable vessel." It rubbed a hand across Dean's chest. "Fit and mostly healthy, though I have to say he hasn't looked after it too well. I don't think I've seen so many scars this side of self-immolation." It tilted Dean's head to one side. "Or perhaps it is you who isn't looking after him properly."

"What do you want with me?"

"None of your business. Especially since I now have you."

"Oh?"

"Are you going to shoot your brother?"

The gun in Sam's hands straightened once more, the barrel prepped to take a life. His brother's life.

Seconds ticked by.

"How can you ask your brother to do what you can't?" The voice hissed at him in triumph. "And to think that he didn't even hesitate to take that girl's life. A moment longer and she would have been freed of me, but no, he killed her anyway."

The gun didn't waver, but Sam's heart sank. Chrissy's death had torn Dean apart. Perhaps the wraith had been hiding away in his brother's psyche all this time, but that had been Dean. Raw Dean.

"You killed her."

"No, I didn't. Your brother was quite capable of killing her all by himself." The smile faltered to a solemn expression. "You know this. You've seen him do it before. Your brother is no less a monster than those he hunts." It shifted from one foot to the other. "Though I have to say that I find the word 'monster' rather offensive. Very un-PC. Hmm, how about socially-challenged?"

"You think you're funny."

It smirked. "Sorry. Carry over from the clothes I'm wearing."

Sam was beginning to wonder the same. Exactly how much influence his brother had over this thing was a question burning in his mind. By rights, the thing should have done whatever it was that it wanted to do by now. Its incessant chatter was little to its advantage.

"Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, putting your brother out of his misery. You're a little slow on the uptake there, Sammy. Dean would have you dead by now and would be well into the angsty weeping over your remains part of the story." Again with the smile. "Perhaps you need some encouragement."

And the fire died in Dean's eyes.

For a moment the panicked hazel caught onto Sam, Dean's expression paling to one of pure anguish.

Then he started screaming.

His screams followed him to the ground as he collapsed, writhing amongst the pine needles.

Sam stood frozen, every molecule in his body urging him to rush forward. But sense held him back.

It didn't hold back the sound of Dean's agony.

"Dean!"

His brother either couldn't hear him or he couldn't answer, whichever, there was no response beyond a gurgled scream that had Sam thinking the man was choking on his own tongue.

"Leave him alone, you bastard!" The shotgun faltered, its barrel aiming at pine needles.

Dean inhaled, a choked and strangled sound, but the next scream didn't come. Instead he spat out his brother's name, almost unrecognisable. "Sa-am! Go!" The wraith obviously didn't like that at all and a moment later the screaming resumed.

Sam stood where he was. Flashes of his father begging him to kill the demon bouncing back and forth in his mind.

A tear ran down his face as the gun once again came up. Mercy. It would be mercy. There was no other choice.

"Well, well, well-" Red burnt away hazel.

And Sam fired.

Charmed buckshot ploughed into his brother's thigh.

Dean's yelp was all Dean as the red in his eyes flickered and died. A red mist leaked from the pores in his skin.

"Sam!" Dean's voice was harsh and raw. "No!"

But he didn't listen, stepping forward. "You want me? Come get me, you bastard. And leave my brother alone."

-o-o-o-


	7. Why

_Author's notes: Okay, here is the last bit. Consider this fic now complete and finished. Yay! Heh, it certainly went in directions I hadn't dreamed of and it is rather long for a fic I started just to scribble for a bit. In summary, it's not my best, but it is what it is. Many thanks to **flatkatsi** for the beta and apologies to her for it not being the 'Origins Sequence' she would have preferred :D Also many, many thanks to all of you who have posted feedback to this story. It would never have gotten this far without all your wonderful encouragement, so really you only have yourselves to blame for this :D _

Why  
Part 7 of Truth  
By Gumnut  
13 Jun 2007

"Sam! No!" Please, no. Please, no. He clawed at the creature with his mind, fighting to contain it. Fighting to keep it.

You are a fool.

He ignored it. Red obscured his vision, but he knew Sammy was there. Everything screamed with pain as the wraith drew itself out through his skin, taking blood with it. It was killing him and enjoying it.

He could live with death. Hell, it would be easier than living. But he could not live with losing Sam.

So he fought.

And to his surprise he found he had something to fight with.

But the wraith retaliated and he screamed. NO! You can't have him. You can't!

He's mine!

Leave him alone!

The voices blurred into each other, both echoing himself, confusing. Leave him alone. A whimper. He felt the wraith reach out and touch Sam. Something akin to electricity arced between the creature and its intended prey. It trembled with pleasure and snarled at Dean in triumph.

You don't have the strength.

He's my brother.

He clung to that. Protect Sam. Always protect Sam.

You can't have him!

He pulled with everything he had and the wraith slipped, falling back towards him. The small success only gave him more determination. Its hold on Sam slipped and it was the creature's turn to scream.

It whipped at his soul in retaliation, stabbing, latching on like a leech and drawing away the very strength he fought it with.

Dean trembled, oblivion playing at the edge of his senses. You can't have him. He held on with everything he had.

It is only a matter of time.

Dean knew it was the truth. Only he stood between Sam and this thing, between Sam and everything.

And he was only human.

But he was what he was and he would give everything he had.

You can't have him.

The wraith roared in his head, a sound of triumph, defiance and pending victory.

Somewhere else, somewhere outside this world of red pain, someone touched him and said his name.

Sam!

Pine needles cut him as he moved away. He flung his eyes open, but could see little more than red shadows. A shape? Sam?

No!

He scuttled away, in any direction as long as it was away from Sam. He had to get out. Get away.

Protect Sam.

He clung to the laughing creature and dragged himself across damp ground.

It is inevitable. There is nothing you can do.

Doesn't seem that way to me.

It is only a matter of time.

The shadow loomed over him again.

Sammy, no! But the wraith was right; it gnawed at him, taking what it wanted to take. It was only a matter of time.

And he was only human.

-o-o-o-

Sam had reached for the wraith, desperate to free it from his brother. His plan wasn't as solid as it could have been. Okay, so it was as flimsy as all hell. Get the damn thing out of Dean and then deal with it any way he could. Unfortunately the only way he could think of involved killing himself with the shotgun. Not the best of ideas. But hey, Dean had done worse in the past.

Draw it out of Dean and deal with the bastard.

But apparently his brother disagreed.

The moment the wraith touched him, he felt a jolt, a spark of red electricity that ran up his arm and shook him from head to toe. God.

God, has nothing to do with it.

And the voice was inside his head.

But then so was another, one far more familiar.

He's my brother.

A snarl of anger, pain and determination.

You can't have him!

A brief impression of a titanic struggle and the wraith was ripped from his mind. Sam reeled, falling back on wet ground. He sat there stunned a moment, cold damp seeping into the marginally warmer sogginess of his rain-soaked jeans.

Dean curled up into a trembling ball, his skin little more than a pale bruise in the darkness.

"Dean?" Sam's voice cracked. How the hell had his brother managed that? They both knew the strength and capabilities of this creature.

But then this wasn't the first time his brother had encountered a reaper, wraith or no.

Blood seeped onto the forest floor.

Blinking and attempting to clear his head, Sam struggled forward, crawling over to his brother. He reached out a hand and touched Dean's shoulder. "Dean?"

Dean's eyes shot open and latched onto Sam. Their hazel depths were tainted with a swirling red flame, but the hazel was prominent.

So was the pain.

Recognition set in and Dean flung himself away, scrabbling awkwardly over wet ground.

"Dean!" He followed. God, what the hell was he going to do? Dean, please.

His brother looked up at him, eyes glazed and hurting, but there was resolution there and it broke Sam's heart. No. "No."

He reached out again.

And was flung aside, his body lifting off the ground as it was thrown several feet to collide with a tree. The wind was knocked out of him, stars dancing across his vision.

No! "Leave him alone!" He struggled to rise, a pressure building against him. No! Not again. "No!"

"Sam?"

A small voice.

A figure materialised in front of him. It flickered grey, but a pair of blue eyes smiled sadly at him. "Let it be."

"Chrissy?" His hands shook. "No. Dean, he-"

She reached out, a cold touch on his cheek. "Let it be."

"Dean-" The pressure solidified around him, holding him in place. "Please..."

"Let it be."

She turned to Dean, a tension building up around her as she walked slowly towards the huddled form of his brother.

Sam could only watch.

Chrissy flickered, her hair caught by an unfelt wind. "You can not have him."

Dean wailed, his head arching back off the ground, the anguished sound broken off by a snarl not of his making. "They are mine!"

Chrissy took another step forward, the air around her snapping.

A flash in the corner of his eye and another figure appeared off to Sam's right. He frowned. Another spectre, this one familiar also, but not enough for recognition.

Flicker.

Another. This time off to his left. A girl.

And another. Another. They came, hundreds of them. Flickering in and out of reality, grey, dead, bleeding, torn, rotting, half missing, but all sharing Chrissy's expression of determination.

Faces stood out. Familiar faces. Faces he had studied on missing posters, on police victim records, in morgues. Faces they had been unable to save.

Encircling Dean.

Sam fought against the pressure holding him in place.

His brother's eyes widened at the sight. "You can't." His voice was guttural as his eyes flared red once again.

"We can."

Chrissy stepped towards him and the spirits followed. Flickering into a blur, they shot forward, encapsulating Dean, wrapping him in grey, angry mist, drawing up a wind that swirled around him, buffeting him, lifting him off the ground. Voices screamed and mumbled, a tornado of sound echoed by a two-voiced scream above all.

"Dean!" Sam's throat was raw. He struggled, but he still couldn't move, that same wind tossing his hair into his eyes.

A flash of red, of white, like lightning in a storm cloud and the grey wind streaked with misty red.

Dean fell to the ground in a boneless heap, but the swirling grey continued to spin above him, red struggling as it was consumed within. The trees around them shook and the wind roared.

Flicker.

Flicker.

Flash.

And it was gone.

Pine needles fell in the dark.

Rain dripped.

And Sam fell forward, flat on his face.

-o-o-o-

He was upside down and bouncing.

Oh god. He tried to reach a hand to still his head, but he found it snared by something warm. What-?

A moment later his body gave him an injury report and he groaned.

"Dean?!"

The world wobbled and righted itself. Arms? Yes, arms, lowering him onto something soft. Water ran down his face.

"Hey, Dean, you with me?"

"Sammy?" He blinked and received a dark blur in return. Squeezing his eyes shut, he forced them open again, blinking rapidly. His brother's concerned face swam into view. He frowned. "What's wrong with you?"

It was Sam's turn to blink. "With me? Are you kidding?"

Dean sat up straighter, rewarded by a sharp stab in his thigh. Ow. He reached down to touch the material wrapped tightly around his leg.

"Dean, do you remember what happened?"

Another frown. He was clad in only his jacket and jeans, sitting on damp pine needles in the middle of a pine forest.

Pine needles.

Flickering red.

He looked up at his brother. "Son of a bitch."

For some reason, Sam smiled at that. "How do you feel?"

"Cold." He blinked again, residual dizziness. Another frown. "You shot me!" A pause. "Again."

The smile became a smirk, but there was a darkness behind his brother's eyes. "At least this time it was for the right reasons."

"Yeah? Well, don't start making a habit of it." He shifted and struggled to get onto his feet. His leg protested loudly.

"I'm not planning on it." Sam offered a hand and he grabbed it, levering himself onto one foot.

Upright became sideways at first and he found himself in his brother's arms.

And Sam was clinging to him.

"Hey, uh, Francis, manly man here."

Somewhere over his shoulder, Sam snorted. "Jerk." But he straightened up, shifting his grip to one that was more assistance than brotherly affection. Dean didn't fail to notice the expression on his face, however, and the bitch comment on his lips faded away before it could be vocalised.

"You okay, man?"

A lopsided half smile was followed by a quiet, "Yeah."

"Well, I'm freezing. Help me get my ass inside somewhere."

With a great deal of complaining, some stumbling, one almost catastrophic trip over a stray root and a variety of curses, they made their way back to the motel room. Once inside, yet again amongst the remains of that damned broken lamp, Sam lowered Dean onto the bed he had fled from what seemed a lifetime ago.

It was soft and he let himself drift, comforted by the sounds of his brother moving about the room. Warmth seeped into his skin, leeching away the pain. He knew it would only last a short time; he needed to get the shot out of his leg, an exercise that was going to be a total bastard. But for the moment, he relaxed, forcing thoughts away, not wanting to think.

His name and a soft touch to his shoulder woke him sometime later. "Wha-?" Blearily he found Sam seated beside the bed. "Sammy."

His brother gave him one of those worried smiles, patented Sam Winchester. "Hey, man, we gotta do your leg."

And Dean discovered that not only were his jeans missing, he was also dry and wrapped in a blanket. "'Kay."

It was nothing new to him. Tweezers, antiseptic and a great deal of pain. He lost it at some point, despite Sammy's gentle touch, and gave into the wave of black that swamped him. It was so much quieter that side of consciousness.

The next time he woke he was comfortable, warm and wrapped in bandages as much as blankets. Sam was not beside his bed. "Sammy?" His voice sandpapered his throat, but that didn't stop him from repeating his brother's name loudly and more urgently as he struggled to sit up.

"Hey, hey..." And there he was, his long hair a total dripping mess, wearing nothing more than a hastily grabbed towel. The bathroom door slapped the tiled wall behind him. "I'm here."

Dean blinked. "Good." It was a quiet word, hardly heard as he relaxed back into the mattress.

"How are you feeling?"

Great, it had begun. "I'm good, Sam. Get dressed before you freeze off something important."

Sam grunted, his face scrunching up into an expression that indicated big brother tolerance was in operation, but he disappeared back into the bathroom without saying anything further.

Dean's eyes didn't leave the door until his brother reappeared fully dressed.

Predictably, Sam didn't fail to notice his fixation. "You okay?"

He looked away. "I thought we'd already covered that topic."

"Apparently not enough." His brother ran a towel through his hair and perched on the edge of the other bed. He sighed and Dean automatically turned to look at him again.

A sad smile. "I'm okay, Dean. I'm not going anywhere."

Turning away again, Dean didn't say anything.

"Besides, I should be the one worried about you leaving me behind after that display."

He sighed. "Is this where you chew my ass off for doing what I think is right?"

"Don't you ever run off on me like that again."

Okay, so chewed ass was on the menu. "Sam-"

"No, Dean, you listen to me. You do not protect me at the expense of yourself. You hear me?"

"So, Einstein, what exactly do you think I should have done?"

"Talk to me!"

"Oh, yeah, hey, man, by the way I have a wraith sucking on my soul, wanna share?"

"Dean-"

"I didn't know, okay? Have you thought of that? I discovered that juicy little fact the same time you did, in the middle of that damn forest."

"Then why-?"

"Because...because something was wrong. I didn't know what. All I knew is that I had to get away from you." Protect you.

"So your first reaction when you're in trouble is to run away from me rather than come to me for help?"

"Don't be stupid, Sam. This was different."

"How?"

His lips thinned in exasperation. "It just was, okay?" Sam glared at him, but he ignored it. "Besides, you can't talk. What the hell were you thinking, offering yourself up as a sacrifice to the damn thing?"

"I had a plan."

"Really. What were you going to do, get possessed and shoot yourself?!" Dean's eyes widened at the sudden guilty look on his brother's face. "You-?" Oh god. He turned away again, unable to control his expression. "Damnit, Sam, you out to waste your life that easy?"

"Waste?! Dean, it was going to kill you!"

"Better me than you."

Sam shot to his feet, his hands rising in agitation, his fist curling a moment before dropping just as quickly. "For Christ's sake, Dean. What does it take to convince you that your life is just as important? A hundred or so spirits just sacrificed their existence for you, isn't that enough?!"

His brother towered over him as he lay on the bed, arms waving in various directions, anger at the end of all of them. If he hadn't been his brother, Dean may have had the urge to retreat, as it was, he just stared up at him. "What?"

"Yes, Dean, spirits. Do you think they would attack a damn reaper wraith en masse like that for just anyone? You know how much power one of those things has. I don't think Chrissy or Jake Devins or the odd patient from Roosevelt Asylum are going to be returning from that little special effects event last night."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Spirits, Dean, they saved us from the wraith."

Spirits. He pieced his brother's angry words together. Jake Devins had been that sheriff back in Lake Manitoc. What the hell was he doing here? Chrissy...

Let it be.

Pain and struggle. For a moment he was back there, fighting for his life, for his brother, for everything that mattered. Chrissy. She had been there.

Let it be.

He'd held her dead body in his arms. He had killed her.

Let it be.

I'm sorry, so, so sorry.

Let it be.

She had taken the pain away and he had let go.

He was falling...

"Hey..." A hand touched his shoulder and he flinched. "You with me, man?" Sam, no longer towered over him, but sat beside him, that concerned look on his face again.

Dean's face was wet.

Damn.

He shoved a hand up from under the blanket and rubbed it across his face. Turning his head away from that searching, worried expression, he tried to hide what he could despite knowing it was a vain act.

"You were worth it." Sam's words were barely audible, but the hand on his uninjured shoulder squeezed gently.

Dean didn't answer and, after a moment, the hand left along with Sam, leaving him blessedly alone.

Worth it.

Worth an innocent man's life.

Worth his father's life.

Worth a young girl's life.

Worth a hundred supernatural existences.

He blinked at the moisture still in his eyes.

They may believe it, but how could he?

Because the truth was, if he couldn't save Sam, his life wasn't worth living.

-o-o-o-

THE END


End file.
